


Stephew Oneshots

by sammisue



Category: GTLive, The Film Theorists - Fandom, The Game Theorists - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Game Theory, Stephew, film theory - Freeform, stephpat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:36:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10087376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammisue/pseuds/sammisue
Summary: Just a collection of oneshots of Matpat and Stephanie.





	1. I Just Wanted to Bring You a Burrito!

"Steph, I'm doing a recording," Matthew shouted from his recording closet for the fifth time that day. He then turned to his cat, Skip, who was slowly approaching the closet's sliding, mirror door.

"You too Skip," Mat smiled as he gently rubbed the crown of Skip's head, "I want to get through the whole recording this time, so no scratching at the door again," he then pointed an accusing finger at his cat. Skip cocked his head to the side, studying his owner's funny words and quirky antics in confusion.

"Love you Skeeep!" Mat smiled again as he closed the closet door. Skip sat outside for a few moments, trying to process his owner's sudden disappearance, but eventually lost interest. Skip decided to curl up in the ray of sunlight that shone on the soft flooring of the room and waited for Mat to return.

"Okay," Mat murmured to himself, looking at all of the recording equipment in front of him, illuminated only by his laptop's screen in the dark closet.

"Recording program, check."

"Microphone, check."

"Script," Mat patted the floor around him until he heard a crinkle from underneath his fingertips. He pulled out the packet of paper from beneath him, "check."

Mat glanced once more around his recording studio, as if to see if he was missing something important, but he only saw his neatly hung shirts faintly illuminated by the outside lights the crept through the crevices of the closet doors. He then directed his eyes back to the iridescent laptop screen.

"Okay, I think I'm ready," he muttered, holding his script in one hand and hovered his mouse over the record button with the other. He took a deep breath to sooth his loudly being heart for a moment, and then pressed record.

  
"Hello internet, welcome to Film Theory," Mat recited with his usual exuberance, "the YouTube show guaranteed to get you a perfect score on the S-A-Ts ..."

Recording _Is Miss Peregrine's BETTER Than Hogwarts?_ Had been a task on his to-do list of a while now, and Mat was relieved to finally lift this burden off of his shoulders. As he mindlessly went through the script, he could not help but think of how fun it was to pin three, non-existent schools against each other and put them to the test against standard American education. There was something so fascinating about this topic, which caused Mat to unintentionally put more emotion into his words. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until one line.

"And that's no exaggeration! The closest Hogwart's students get is arithmincy." Mat paused, unsatisfied with the way the words flowed from his mouth.

"Arithmincy," he slightly shook his head.

"Ah-ryth-eh-men-see," he nodded.

"The closest Hogwart's students get is arithmancy, which is predicting the future through numbers. It's basically a class of numerology. Illuminati confirmed!" Mat smiled to himself during the short pause before his next line.

"And that's not to mention everything else they're clueless about --"

Before Mat could continue, the sound of clanking, sliding doors startled him as light flooded the dark closet. Mat screamed in terror at the unexpected intrusion on his recording. Before his eyes adjusted to the light, he heard a familiar voice whisper to him.

"Hey, hey, hey," it was his wife, Stephanie. She gently placed her left hand on Mat's shoulder to comfort him while her right hand balanced a plate with food. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I tried to make noise but you didn't hear me."

At this point, Mat could feel his heartbeat in his ears as his face suddenly started to feel cold. "Shhhhoot," he muttered to himself in between quick, shallow breaths.

Stephanie dropped to her knees, inching closer to her husband, eyes wide with shock for she did not think that her sudden appearance was going to scare him _this_ much. "Hey," she said again, hoping that the sound of her voice would calm him down, "I just wanted to bring you a burrito," she laughed nervously, "It's --it's just me and burrito." With her free hand, she turned Mat's face toward her, "It's okay," she smiled. Mat, still shaking, smiled back.

Slowly rising from his spot, Skip approached Stephanie and squeezed himself into the closet with Mat, making direct eye contact with the plate of food the entire time.

"Skip's here too," Mat whispered, voice wavering. With his shaking hand, he started to gently stroke skip's back, glad that his cat was right there to comfort him, until he followed Skip's gaze to the place of food that still rested in Stephanie's right hand. Matthew chucked, "Skip wants my burrito."  


	2. I Love You More Than You Will Ever Know

( **AN:** The underlined portions are texts sent between Matthew and Stephanie. Stephanie's texts are more prim and proper while Matthew's do not possess capital letters or apostrophes [and occasionally contains text speech].)

\----------------------------------

All was quiet in the Patricks' neighborhood as Stephanie sat silently, watching the latest GTLive upload, longing to be with her husband. Her delicate body sunk into the old couch, wrapped in three blankets for Stephanie refused to touch the thermostat despite the chill in the air --partly because she hated paying the heating bill and partly because she did not want to move from her comfortable niche. As she stroked Skips's head, she giggled at Matthew's antics while playing The Stanley Parable. What a metagame that was. Curious, she broke her gaze from the video and scrolled her cursor down to comment section of the screen. Blinded by the white background, Stephanie squinted as she started to file through the text:

"MatPat is so funny! He always puts a smile on my face :)"

"pause @ 36:01 mat's face tho"

"Hey! I have a GREAT theory for FNAF ..."

"Dear lord, Stephanie is just unbearable ..."

Stephanie's grin quickly faded as she stopped scrolling and carefully examined the comment.

"... Look, I like her; Mat is lucky to have her. But she is just REALLY unbearable when it comes to some of these games. I don't blame Matthew for angrily swearing; Steph would probably push me to do that too ..."

Her breath hitched as she stopped stroking Skip's head. Skip meowed and nudged her hand, angered by the cease in pets, but Stephanie did not notice.

"... Mat was trying his best to listen to the Narrator, and Steph keeps talking and talking about nonsense. THEN she has the nerve to throw a fit and pout over something that didn't even matter. She really is a bitch sometimes, I hate to say it ..."

A sharp pain pulsated through her chest as she bit her lower lip. Salty tears started to blur her vision, but she was determined to finish reading the comment, no matter how painful it was.

"... I love them both, but I would NOT want to play games with Stephanie at all. I've played games with girls before, and my God was it unbearable."

Against her better judgment, she expanded on the replies.

"your so right"

"I fuckin' HATE Steph. She's SOOOO annoying!"

"why does matt even let her on the live stream she sucks at gaming omg"

"What is really painful to watch is that she thinks she's funny, but she is honestly worse than Mat."

"she's such a bi--"

Skip flinched as Stephanie slammed the screen of the laptop against the keyboard. She proceeded to toss the laptop onto the coffee table in front of her, causing Skip to jump off of the couch in fear of getting hurt. Stephanie tried her hardest to wipe the tears from her eyes with her cotton sleeves, but the more she rubbed her face, the more the tears splattered onto her blankets. She turned her head to took at the empty spot where Skip once laid and realized that her actions sent him to the floor, terrified.

"Oh no Skip, I'm sorry!" She cooed as droplets of salty water dripped down her face. She stretched her arms towards the cat that started to cautiously approach her. Skip sniffed her hands, licked her fingertips, and then moved to curl by her feet that were placed firmly on the rug below her. Stephanie sighed as she sat in the silent, cold and dark room. She longed for Matthew to hold her in his arms, to tell her that everything is okay, to reassure her that she is loved, but he was away on a business trip and she was alone.

 _Am I not good enough?_ she asked herself. _Am I really that annoying? Why does Mat keep me on the show if no one likes me? Out of pity? Does he feel pity for me?_ She let her aching body fall onto the couch cushions in the most uncomfortable and distorted position with her feet still placed on the floor, but she did not care. She stared into the void-like darkness of the room.

_Why does he love me?_

Stephanie brought her palms to her eyes as she tried her hardest to stop the flow of tears once more, but as she placed her hands on her face, her breath hitched again as her voice started to hiccup. Stephanie lifted her feet off of the floor, much to Skip's dismay, and curled her knees against her chest as she let out heart-wrenching cries.

"W-why am I cr-crying?" She asked herself between hiccups, "I-it's just a-a couple of s-stupid c-c-comments, you baby."

Skip lightly pounced onto the couch as soon as he heard Stephanie, and curled next to her arms, licking her tears off of her face with his rough tongue. Stephanie flinched at the feeling of sandpaper on her smooth cheeks, but allowed Skip to continue, thankful for his kind gesture.

"Skip, am I really that annoying?" She asked, but Skip said nothing and continued to groom her. Stephanie sighed, "I wish you could talk. I really need someone to talk to right now."

A sharp buzz tore Stephanie's gaze away from Skip and onto the wooden coffee table. Next to her laptop laid her phone, illuminating the objects that surrounded it. Reaching over Skip, she snatched it and squinted --the bright iridescent light hurt her eyes.

There was one, single message on her home screen; it was from Matthew.

 

hey hunny sorry for the lack of communication but things are crazy over here

I hope things are less crazy over there

I love you :)

 

Stephanie slightly smiled as she read his messages. As her heart rate accelerated, tears started to cloud her vision yet again for she realized that Matthew was not physically there with her. She sighed as she gazed at Skip again, who gave her a look of concern and confusion.

"Let's just sleep this off Skip."

In one swift motion, she knocked the blankets off of her body, placed her feet firmly on the ground again, and took Skip in her arms, all with her phone grasped firmly in her left hand. Skip meowed in response, agitated by being held, but he did not struggle to break free.

Stephanie slowly rose off of the couch and wobbled as she stood, letting her knees knock against each other as she tried her hardest to move across the pitch-black living room. She shifted Skip's position so he leaned against her chest to free her left hand. Stephanie unlocked her phone and used it's iridescent glow to light her path all the way up the spiral stairs, to the bedroom. On the way up, Stephanie knocked her foot against one of the steps, causing her body to launch forward, but before she fell, she caught her balance. Skip yelped at her sudden, jerky movements, but instantly calmed as soon as he felt Stephanie's soft and delicate hand stroke the crown of his head once more. She expelled the air she held in her lungs as she moved forward, up the rest of the stairs, down the hall, and opened the creaking door to the eerily silent bedroom.

As soon as she stepped across the threshold, Skip jumped out of her arms and landed firmly on the ground. Stephanie slowly moved towards the lamp that was placed on Matthew's end-table and switched it on, giving life to the room. Skip jumped onto the soft bed as Stephanie trudged around the room, gathering clothes, letting her feet drag across the ground with every step.

_Am I really that annoying?_

She tugged on the cord attached to the window blinds, firmly closing them, blocking her view to the outside world.

_Does he pity me?_

Stephanie lifted Matthew's baggy sweatshirt off of her torso and let the cloth suffocate her for a moment. Once the sweatshirt was off, she lowered her arms and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was thin, and small, with a beautifully structured face and small, delicate hands, flat stomach, and nicely sculpted legs. Girls would _kill_ for a body like hers, but at this moment, Stephanie hated herself more than ever and only saw a body that wreaked of desperation and loneliness with a hint of self-loathing and embarrassment. She threw the sweatshirt at the mirror, watching the soft fabric cover her reflected image for a moment, then quickly fall to the ground. She then grabbed a plain t-shirt from Matthew's drawer.

The t-shirt smelt like him; the same cozy, manly yet warm and gentle smell that felt like home. She smothered her face in it, wishing that the shirt was on Matthew so she would be suffocating herself in Matthew's chest instead of looking like an idiot standing in the middle of a silent room with a shirt in her face. But he was miles away, and she resided in their rather small bedroom with a cat that watched her every move with curiosity. Stephanie sighed as she proceeded to slip her arms through the extra large sleeves and pulled the fabric over her dainty body.

_Why does he love me?_

Stephanie moved back to Matthew's side of the bed, grabbed her phone that she had placed on his end table, and plopped her body next to Skip, staring at Matthew's message with mixed feelings. Skip purred as he rubbed the side of his face against Stephanie's arm, but she brushed him aside as she sent a text back to Matthew:

 

Hey hun, sorry for the late reply. Kinda upset rn... I'm going to go to bed. I hope everything is going well for you. Good night Matthew. I love you.

 

Stephanie placed her phone beside her hips and laid her back against the divots in the mattress that are used to holding Matthew's broad body. She carefully placed her right arm across her eyes, buried her face into her inner elbow, and sighed loudly. Skip placed a paw on her stomach --that slowly rose and fell with each breath she took-- and then placed the rest of his eleven pounds onto her chest. He yawned in her face, causing Stephanie to take her other hand and swat at the air in front of her.

"Skip your breath smells like fish."

Another sharp buzz pierced Stephanie's ears in the quiet room, which was quickly silenced by her hand. She lifted her arm off of her eyes and brought the phone close to her face; breath quickening in anticipation of his reply. Part of her just wanted him to say goodnight, but the other part of her wanted him to confess how much he loved her so she would not feel so unappreciated. What she received was something she was not expecting:

 

what youre going to bed bc youre upset?

haha youre funny

im not gonna let u do that

 

Stephanie's face changed from one showing her deepest insecurities to one of perplexion.

 

What do you mean?

 

She sat up as she waited for Matthew's reply, causing Skip to slide down her chest and into her lap. Skip meowed as he nudged her free hand again, requesting gentle rubs, to which Stephanie complied absent-mindedly.

 

we have a promise remember?

never go to bed upset

 

Stephanie sighed. Yeah, that was a promise they made to each other, but that promise was usually only put into effect when they slept in the same bed. Matthew and Stephanie were not even in the same city at that moment (even though all she longed for was his physical immediacy) so the promise could be broken for one night, right?

 

But you're all the way in San Diego and I am stuck here in LA

Is the promise still in effect if we are not sharing the same space?

 

steph im only 2 hours away

and of course the promise is still in effect

whats wrong youre acting so strange

 

Stephanie's heart pounded louder in her ears as her skin started to turn clammy and cold. She knew that she would have to answer this question sooner or later, but she did not want Matthew to turn against his own fans nor did she want to hear the same speech he gave at VidCon about how 'the nasty comments are not important compared to the millions that are supportive'. As she sat in the cold, empty room, she started to regret sending the 'I'm upset' and should have just said 'Goodnight'.

 

It's nothing. I'm fine, I promise. Just feeling a little off. Maybe because I can't watch movies with you under blankets this chilly evening, ya know?

 

She held her breath, hoping that her message was convincing enough for Matthew to let her off the hook. As she carefully reread her text, she worried that the structure did not sound like her; that it was not sincere enough. Hopefully, Matthew would not notice.

 

we both know that is not whats wrong

 

 _Damnit_. Stephanie groaned as Skip rubbed the sides of his face against Matthew's t-shirt that draped over her chest.

"What am I supposed to say, Skip?" Stephanie asked, glancing at her messages again, unsure of how to reply. Skip purred in response; he was no help.

 

please tell me

 

Her eyes welled with tears once again as her mind battled over conflicting feelings. Deep down, Stephanie wanted to tell Matthew everything that was wrong, in excruciating detail. She wanted him to feel sorry for her, to show her compassion, to show her validation, to say just how much he loved her, but her conscious told her that was manipulative and not okay. Matthew was away for business and she should not be wasting his time and energy over a stupid comment. Matthew comes first.

After pondering over what to say for a few minutes, Stephanie replied with the one answer she could think of:

 

I don't want to.

 

She sat there, with Skip, goosebumps covering every inch of her skin due to anticipation, fear, and the fact that the house grew colder by the minute. Stephanie's head was pounding as the tears that she tried so hard to hold back finally fell onto Skip's head. This time, she did not bother to wipe them away and, instead, let the salty water warm her cold, pale cheeks. Skip slowly lifted himself onto his hind legs, placed his paws gently on Stephanie's chest, and licked her face once more. Stephanie closed her eyes and smiled, "Thanks, buddy." The phone's dim luster rebounded off of her face yet again, bringing to light the subtle dark circles that started to form under her bloodshot eyes.

 

since when cant you share your feelings with me?

please talk to me

 

"Why can't he just drop the subject?" Skip stopped licking her face and moved to rub his head against her chin. "I don't understand, Skip. He know's I'm upset, he knows I don't want to talk, so why does he keep pestering me?" Skip purred, unable to comment on the situation, but offered to show his support, knowing that she was distressed. Stephanie's anger subsided as she studied Skip's actions; the way he pressed his coarse tongue against her damp and sweaty skin to dry her tears, the way he rubbed his face against her body to show support, the way he slowly and softly purred to ease her mind. He loved her and did everything that he could to show her comfort despite the fact that Skip could not comprehend what she was saying. If Matthew were there, he would show the same kind gesture, but in his own way. Instead of licking her face and rubbing his head against her frail complexion, he would hold her in his strong arms and she would place her head on his broad shoulders and Matthew would tell her that she is loved, valued, and important. She would smile into his t-shirt, just as she had done a few minutes ago, but this time, she would match her breathing and heartbeat with his, close her eyes, and drift to sleep in the comfort of his arms. Stephanie smiled as she thought about her husband and his admiration for her; his endearment and his _love_. Matthew loved her, and she knew that, but there was still one question that kept nagging her, tugging at the back of her mind, destroying her from the inside out.

_Why does he love me?_

 

Why do you love me, Matthew?

 

Her heart stopped beating for a moment as soon as she hit send, but then quickly accelerated as soon as she processed her action. _Shit. I didn't want to send that_.

 

why do i love you?

 

There's no going back now.

 

Yeah.

 

_Way to sound needy, Steph. How could he ever love you now?_

 

steph, you should know

weve been married for almost 5 years

 

_He's beating around the bush._

 

Why do you love me?

 

why are u acting so strange this is nothing like u

 

Why Matthew?

 

Silence. Stephanie turned away from her phone and gazed at the window blinds, motionless --as if she were broken. Maybe he was diverting the conversation on purpose so he would not have to admit unwanted feelings. Maybe she really was annoying, and Matthew just did not have the heart to tell her. Maybe she really was a bitch and Matthew took this business trip as an opportunity to get away from her, to take a breath of fresh air, to escape her toxicity, to escape _her_ , and he just did not want to outright admit it because he was afraid. But what was he afraid of? Did he not want to hurt her feelings? But if he dreaded their intimacy and her rotten personality, then why did he care?

Just when she had thought she ran out of tears, her eyes started to fill with the familiar warmth that blurred her vision. Stephanie had the sudden urge to throw something, like the glass cup full of water on her end table. She wanted to watch it shatter into large and small pieces against the white wall and for the clear liquid to slowly create paths along the paint that reached the ground, just how her own tears created paths down her face. She wanted to watch the destruction of the glass to settle the pent-up energy that lay inside of her, but before the lunged to the opposite side of the bed, she stopped herself. Would destroying a nice, delicate cup really subside her anger? Would it make her stop hating herself? Probably not. She would then have to carefully clean all of the glass off of the floor without letting the shards pierce her skin, or get lodged in Skip's throat. Skip does not eat glass, does he? Stephanie did not want to find out.

Skip meowed as Stephanie's phone buzzed once again, breaking her trance. She glanced at him, curled on her lap --looking at her with a hint of concern in his eyes-- and then at her phone. She almost did want to read whatever Matthew had sent her in fear of the worst, but she could not stop herself from swiping her home screen and tapping on his name.

 

well i love you because not only do i admire your stunning looks, your beautiful personality, and the fact that you force yourself to laugh at my rather witty puns, but i also love your constant enthusiasm even when im at my worst

your hilarious commentary while i play video games, your constant compassion for those around you, the way you laugh, the way your eyes disappear when you smile, the way you say goodnight and good morning each and every day to me, the way you make me feel loved and appreciated are all reasons why i married you steph, and of course the list doesnt stop there

you compassion and your love for me is what keeps me going

without you i wouldnt be where i am today

you never gave up on me even when the rest of the world did and i have to thank you for that

 

Stephanie gently placed her hand over her mouth as she read his replies. Slowly, a grin crept onto her face as she relaxed her tense body --as if a weight had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders.

"He loves me Skip," she muttered, "he really does love me." Skip flashed his dark, beady eyes at Stephanie, unsure of what to make of the situation.

Stephanie gazed at the ceiling of the dimly lit room, unable to stop herself from smiling. What a feeling that was; she felt like her radiant self again, but only for a few moments before she forced herself to look back on the situation once more. A dull pain pulsated through her chest as she remembered the comments that she had read only a few hours ago. There were still questions left unanswered.

 

You don't think I'm annoying?

 

not at all

 

Or unbearable?

 

wouldnt dream of it

 

Or a bitch?

 

did someone say those things to you?

 

Stephanie sighed. She had gone in too deep. It was time to tell Matthew about what had happened, no matter how stupid she would sound.

 

Not to me, but about me. It was just a silly comment on the newest GTLive upload. I was just a little upset by it, but it's honestly nothing.

 

There, the truth was out.

 

what? how dare they say such things about you

 

Oh no, he's angry.

 

Please don't get mad at your fans. It was just some idiotic thing, it's fine. Honestly.

 

if this comment lead you to question my love and commitment to u then it was not fine

 

Matthew, please.

 

A sudden state of panic swept through her body as she placed her phone back onto the mattress. Skip noticed the change in her breathing pattern and grew increasingly nervous the faster she chest moved, prompting him to rise from his curled position and lean against Stephanie to comfort her. The two sat in silence, watching the black screen of the phone, waiting for it to light up again.

When it did, Stephanie snatched it as quick as she could, hoping that she did not make Matthew even angrier than he already was.

 

dont worry steph everything will be alright

u know im only mad bc they hurt the love of my lifes feelings right?

 

Stephanie chuckled at his last line. _Love of my life_. The love of his life; that was her.

 

I wish you were here.

 

She changed the topic, not wanting to dwell on the comments any further.

 

i do too

i want to show you my support in person but i guess this text will have to do:

Stephanie Cordato Patrick, I love you more than you will ever know <3

 

Stephanie's eyes filled with tears once again, but for the first time that night, they were not out of fear, anxiety, loneliness, or sorrow. She was happy. She was relieved. She was so utterly thankful to have him in her life. Matthew loved her more than anything else in the world, and that one reply brought her to realize that. Granted, she knew how much he admired her all along, but she let her insecurities cloud her vision and doubt her husband. But, again, being the kind of person that she was, she had to reassure herself one more time.

 

Are you sure?

 

Was that question pushing it too far?

 

of course im sure! even if i was given the opportunity to reset my life and start over i would still choose to spend the rest of my days with you

 

Stephanie smiled as she slightly shook her head.

 

That was so corny.

 

only the best corn for my one and only sweetheart

 

She was his sweetheart; his _one and only_ sweetheart.

 

Thank you.

 

for what?

 

For everything.

 

i love you <3

 

I love you too.

 

Finally, for the first time since watching the upload, Stephanie felt at peace. Matthew loved her, she loved Matthew, and Skip was still leaning against her, cuddling with her so she would not feel so lonely. She was loved, admired, and validated. Stephanie smiled as she gently rubbed Skips head.

Everything was right in her world.

 

hey do you think you can make it one more night with just skip?

 

Stephanie laughed as Skip brought his face close to hers. She kissed his nose.

 

I'll manage.

 

u sure?

 

Yeah. Skip can be great company when he's not sleeping.

 

Stephanie placed her phone onto Matthew's end table and lifted Skip off of her chest, to which he yelped. She placed him in between her body and the night stand and laid once again on the old mattress. Skip curled up next to her head as she grabbed the blankets that were semi-scattered across the bed and tucked herself, and her cat, into them. She then grabbed her phone again.

 

alright

as soon as i get home we are going to cuddle together under those soft blankets of yours and watch pride and prejudice together

sound good?

 

Stephanie giggled. She had seen that movie more times than she could count, but she would never pass up the opportunity to watch it with Matthew, under some nice, warm blankets, with snacks.

 

I'll make sure the popcorn is ready for when you arrive.

 

extra butter?

 

Of course. With a diet coke too.

 

u know me so well

 

She felt her heart flutter at Matthew's last reply. It was painful to think that he was not physically with her at that moment, but he was going to come back, they would be together again, and they would have the pleasure of showing how much love they possessed for each other by simply spending time doing cute, couple activities. These little things in life were what Stephanie loved the most, and was also one of the reasons why she wanted to spend the rest of her days with Matthew. He showed how much she meant to him by simply baking cookies with her, holding hands with her, comforting her when she needed him the most (despite the fact that he was busy on a business trip miles away and had to show his support through dumb text messages), and even sitting through the same movie he had watched at least fifty times with her because he loved to see her smile and become overly excited at the proposal scene (just like how she use to while sitting in a laundry basket in their apartment in New York).

Stephanie sighed as a deep drowsiness started to take over her. Soon enough, she struggled to keep her eyes open as she desperately tried to send at least one more text message to her husband.

 

I should really get some sleep now. Thank you for cheering me up.

 

Matthew instantly replied.

 

my pleasure stephanie

you know i hate to see you upset

 

Stephanie smiled once more.

 

I know, haha. Goodnight hun.

 

goodnight love, sleep well

 

Stephanie locked her phone screen and placed it on Matthew's end table. She then tugged on the lamp cord, turning it off, filling the room with darkness once more. She laid her head on Matthew's pillow.

"Good night Skip." She cooed. He softly purred in response. Stephanie hummed as she wrapped one of her arms around his lanky body and slowly drifted off to sleep with a small smile that slowly crept onto her face.

 _Goodnight love, sleep well_.


	3. Thanks For Your Help, Honey

Stephanie hummed as she let the smooth, white paper she held between her fingertips fall neatly into a pile. She sighed quietly as her gaze lingered on the packet of papers, unamused by the amount of work she had to provide for her new consulting job. Without tearing her gaze away from the pile, she firmly placed her elbow on the wooden desk and rested her chin in the palm of her hand.

It was a nice, warm evening in New York. A temperate breeze swept across her exposed arms, which prompted her to slightly turn her head towards the adjacent window that Matthew must have unlatched while she was busy organizing her dissertations and job evaluations. Stephanie took a deep breath, letting her mind linger on the warmth of the air and the faint reminiscent scent of barbecue and Chinese food from down the street. She smiled. Despite the hustle and bustle of New York --with the constant cacophony of honking horns and clamor of angry voices-- the city truly was an interesting and beautiful place. She closed her eyes, deep in thought, but immediately opened them as soon as she felt a thin, yet strong, arm lay across her chest.

"Hi hun," a familiar voice uttered from behind her.

Stephanie sighed deeply, briefly closing her eyes once more before turning her body around in her creaking chair, that sounded as though it were to give away at any given moment, "Matthew, you scared me."

Matthew chuckled as he slowly lowered himself to one knee to match his height with Stephanie's.

"Sorry Steph," he smiled as he leaned closer to place a soft and quick kiss on her cheek. Stephanie smirked at him as he pulled away, thankful that his presence forced her to take a break from her concentration.

"So, how's it going?" Matthew asked, breaking the silence between them. As Stephanie pondered her response, he placed his right hand on her upper back and absent-mindedly started to rub gentle circles to ease her painful-looking hunched position that she had been in for hours.

Stephanie groaned, "Awful," she replied, "Don't get me wrong, I do like this job, not to mention it pays pretty well, but, oh my, the workload is unbearable." Matthew moved his hand away when Stephanie turned her body back to face the desk that was covered in scattered papers and chewed pencils.

He scanned the scene, then looked at the profile of his girlfriend's face. Small, dark circles and subtle wrinkles started to form under her eyes due to exhaustion and stress. Her hair, once neatly tucked into a bun earlier that day, flowed freely down her back in a tangled mess (most likely due to the fact that she had been nervously running her fingers through it while she was working). Stephanie looked utterly uncomfortable in the chair she sat in as she placed her elbows on the desk once more, cupped her face in her hands, and expelled the air that she had held for a few seconds in an attempt to calm her stressed mind. Matthew smiled solemnly at her. She had been at this for hours without one break. He admired her work ethic and determination, he truly did, but Stephanie had a tendency to push herself beyond her limits. This could not be healthy for her.

"Why don't you take a break," Matthew suggested, placing his left hand on her leg to show comfort. Stephanie brushed him aside.

"I can't Mat, I have to get this done."

"When is this due?"  
"Friday."

"Stephanie, it's only Tuesday. You still have two whole days to work on... whatever you're doing," Matthew sighed, staring at her intently. She refused to break her gaze from her work in fear of taking one look at Matthew and getting lost in his inspection, already knowing that his eyes displayed a look for concern and admiration for her.

"I know, I know, but if I don't finish, I will worry about it nonstop," she stated as she started to organize her papers once again with one hand and ruffled Matthew's hair with the other. Matthew slightly shook his head. She was right.

"Can I at least get you something to eat?" He asked, standing to his feet.

"I'm not hungry," she admitted. How could she think about food? She had work to do.

"How about something to drink?"

Before Stephanie refused, she swallowed the saliva that accumulated in her mouth and realized that her throat was rather dry, "Yeah, something to drink would be nice."

"Okay hun, I'll be right back," Matthew ran his fingers through her hair before he turned to walk towards their tiny, shared kitchen.

Once Matthew left her space, Stephanie quickly started to shuffle her papers around in order to free some desk space for whatever Matthew was going to bring her. She stood, gathering the flimsy packets, placing them on the edges of the desk, smiling. Suddenly, she stopped moving and gazed at her own hands, deep in thought. She was lucky to have a man like Matthew in her life. No, she was lucky to have _Matthew_. Ever since their college days (which was not too long ago), Matthew had done nothing but care for her. He knew exactly the kind of love and admiration she craved and he understood when she needed her personal space. He was an extroverted, loud, outgoing, theater major while she was more of an introverted, shy, secluded, geeky science chick, but did Matthew care? No, not at all. Despite their differences in personality, Stephanie and Matthew shared very similar likes, dislikes, senses of humor, dreams, aspirations, and the growing mutual love for each other.

"Hey, Steph, you alright?"

Matthew's solicitous voice cut through the air like a sharp knife, quickly breaking Stephanie away from her thoughts, bringing her back to reality.

"Oh, what, yeah, I'm fine," she laughed nervously as she finished brushing the last of her papers aside. Matthew placed a large pitcher of red liquid on the desk.

"You seemed kind of out of it. Are you sure you don't need a break?" He asked, wrapping his arms around Stephanie's waist, resting his head on her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm sure, I was... I was just lost in thought," she smiled, placing her right hand on the side of Matthew's head while her left rested upon the desk.

Matthew hummed, "Mmm, what were you thinking about?"

Chills ran down her spine as his voice vibrated against her body. As much as she had longed to curl up next to him on the couch, watching some movie, with her legs and hands intertwined with his, she looked at the papers that were still scattered about her work space and shook her head. "Oh, just work stuff," she lied.

Matthew frowned, unamused, "If you say so." Matthew pressed his soft lips firmly on Stephanie's smooth cheek, lingering for a moment, not wanting to pull away. Stephanie closed her eyes as she started to run her fingertips through Matthew's shaggy, brown hair. His tender, silken lips and the way he pressed his lean body against hers drove her to desire more. Stephanie felt the sudden growing urge to turn herself around, place her delicate hands on either side of Matthew's face, and press her lips against his, but as she opened her eyes once more, she brought her mind back to reality. There was work to do.

"Alright, alright," Stephanie giggled, "We have all night. We can do something together later if you want."

"If you keep working then we won't have all night," Matthew pouted, but then quickly smirked to show that he was not entirely upset at her. He understood.

"I promise, I'll make it up to you," Stephanie attempted to wiggle out of Matthew's grasp, but she was unsuccessful.

"You really promise?" He asked, tightening his grip, nudging his nose against her pale skin.

"Of course, Mat," Stephanie giggled --his breath on her neck tickled.

"Aight," he smiled, letting go of her body, "I'll be in the other room, waiting for you."

"Mmmm, okay honey," Stephanie chuckled, "Don't expect me to be there in a couple of minutes."

"I'm not," Matthew responded as he started to make his way to the other side of the apartment, half-heartedly waving his hand in defeat.

 _Might as well do some laundry_ Matthew thought to himself as he slowly made his way to the overflowing laundry basket that he and Stephanie shared. Sorting the massive pile of dirty clothes was the least he could do for her, seeming how she was preoccupied with her work. As he clumsily grabbed the silky cloth of one of Stephanie's tank-tops, Matthew smiled at himself. Even though all Matthew craved at the moment was to hold her close to his chest, burry his face in her hair, and feel her steady heartbeat against his own, he understood why she was so determined to finish her papers. She was the one who 'brought home the bacon', though, they could not actually afford bacon. She worked so hard to provide an income for the two of them to live off of and what did he do? Matthew spent more time looking for a job than he did working one. He dropped Stephanie's tank top into a pile of similar-colored clothing, then slowly lifted one of his Duke University sweatshirts. Matthew glanced at the sleeves and noticed that certain sections were lightly dusted with foundation; Stephanie must have stolen it again. He grinned as he slowly shook his head. Ever since they started dating, Stephanie stole Matthew's clothes for months at a time, often wearing his t-shirts and sweatpants to their weekend get-togethers with their college friends. Surprisingly, their friends never noticed, but Matthew did. Now that they share the same living space, Stephanie wore his clothes more often than she wore her own. Why? He had no clue.

Matthew's train of thought was suddenly disrupted by a distressed cry from the opposite side of the apartment. He threw the sweatshirt aside and sped to the source of the cry --to Stephanie. She stood there, in front of the desk once again, hands placed on either side of her head, fingers tangled in her hair. Matthew approached her, turned her body towards him, grabbed her arms, and laced his fingers with hers.

"What's wrong?" He asked, voice shaking slightly as he tried desperately to look into her soft, brown eyes.

She sighed rather loudly, "Nothing. I just spilled the juice."

Matthew turned his head towards the desk and noticed the red liquid that he had placed on it a few minutes ago slowly consumed the work space. Stephanie turned her head towards the mess as well, angered by her own clumsiness. At least her papers were okay, despite the fact that most of them now lay all over the floor.

Matthew sighed in relief, thankful that Stephanie, as well as all of the work that she had spent hours producing, was okay. "Do we still have paper towels in the other room?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll go get them," she groaned as she unwrapped her hands from his and slipped herself between the desk and Matthew.

Stephanie firmly placed her hands on the side of the white, sliding door to the storage closet, where their stock of paper towels, toilet paper, and other paper goods were located. As she started to tug at the door, she noticed something was wrong.

"Uh, hun, I can't open the door."

"What do you mean you can't open the door?"  
"It's stuck."

Stephanie stepped out of the way, arms folded upon her chest, as Matthew took her place. He clung onto the same spot Stephanie had and tried to pry it open. The door only opened about half an inch. "Wow, I guess it is stuck."  
"Yeah, no kidding," Stephanie uttered, "Let me try again."

Matthew backed away from his spot to let Stephanie take his place. He watched her fumble around for awhile until she finally dropped to the floor, hoping that she could get more leverage being closer to the ground. He smirked as he started to step away from the scene.

"Where are you going?" Stephanie asked.

"I'm getting the camera."

\------

"Stop this isn't helping," Stephanie scolded, still perched on the floor with one leg outstretched, foot pressed against the door frame to stop her body from sliding around while she desperately tried to open the door.

"Here we have a spill," Matthew panned the camera to the puddle of liquid that still sat upon the desk, untouched, "Why aren't we doing anything about it you ask?" He then panned the camera to Stephanie, on the floor in her shorts and bright yellow t-shirt, throwing her weight around in desperation to get the door to open wide enough to fit her dainty body through. Matthew chuckled, "'Cause we can't escape the room and we haven't been able to for like..." Matthew burst into laughter as Stephanie triumphantly stood from her position and squeezed herself between the door and the door frame. Matthew regained his composure, "... like a couple of minutes as we try to open the door, which can't be opened anymore."

Swiftly, Stephanie wedged herself into the small opening, yet again, this time carrying a roll of paper towels. She then quickly passed Matthew, who pointed the camera towards her, ripped some paper towels off of the roll, and threw them onto the surface of the wooden desk.

"These are the moments in life that need to be documented, both --"

Stephanie interrupted him, "Geez, and not helped with."  
Matthew chuckled, "Both for amusement and for the landlord."

Stephanie shook her head as she smothered the liquid in the paper towels, carefully cleaning up the spill, avoiding the exposure of the juice to papers that had not dropped to the floor. Matthew cheered as Stephanie crumpled the stained-pink paper towels in her hands. She then turned around to face her boyfriend, who still had the camera running, recording the whole fiasco, "Thanks for your help, honey."

Matthew grinned, pressed the stop button, and set the camera down on a nearby end table as Stephanie ran into the kitchen to throw away the soaked paper she held in her hands. Matthew crouched on the floor and picked up the fallen packets while Stephanie was gone. She emerged into the room as he neatly placed the papers back on her desk in a pile, just like how she had them before.

"Hey Matthew," she spoke as she leaned her body against the wall adjacent to where he was standing, "After all of that chaos, I think I'm done for tonight."  

Matthew smirked as he approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She placed her arms gently around his shoulders.

"So," Matthew uttered, drawing his face closer to hers, gazing deeply into her eyes that had a sort of sparkle to them, "what do you want to do?"

Stephanie blushed slightly at his close proximity. She closed her eyes and pushed lightly on his nose with her left index finger, "I don't know what you're thinking about but I'm good with just watching some TV to be honest."

Matthew chuckled as he firmly clasped Stephanie's hand in his own, "Alright, TV it is."


	4. Date

**AN: Warning**

**This oneshot is highly depressing and contains matters such as chronic illnesses, physical damage to the body, and a lot of emotional conflictions. The ending is ambiguous, leaving the state of Matthew and Stephanie up to the reader. This was written purposely because I, as the writer, did not have the heart to continue with a concrete fate for them in this particular oneshot.**

**Please remember that this is not real (I'm only putting this here because as I was writing it, I had to remind myself of this fact) and if this were to become real in any way, shape, or form, I will delete this immediately.**

**Thank you for your constant support and overwhelming enthusiasm for my writing! I hope that this particular oneshot satisfies all of you angsty readers out there in a way that not only makes you read about Mat and Steph (and their non-existent struggle) but also makes you think about how precious life is.**

**\---------------------------------------------------**

(AN: This oneshot is written entirely in Matthew's Point of View)  
  
  


**Date**

    This day started just like any other day. Stephanie lazily rolled onto her side, pushing Skip, who laid between us, close to my face. I slowly opened my eyes, only to see our cat's white fur blocking my view of my wife. I heard her laugh as I desperately tried to expel cat hair from my mouth. I rolled onto my back and she placed her thin, delicate arm across my chest. She wished me good morning, with a giggle, just like every morning, and I smiled back at her.

    I remember this day as if it were just a couple of hours ago. The morning sun crept through the window blinds and cast it's rays of light onto her firmly, and beautifully, structured cheekbones. Her small hands --one draped over my broad body, the other intertwined with her hair-- laid peacefully as her nimble fingers slowly rubbed circles on my hips and in her long, brown, locks. Her strong, yet delicate and smooth, legs, interlaced with mine under the bedsheets. I smiled back at her, enjoying her closeness, hoping that I could live in that moment forever, but there were theories to write and food to eat, and soon enough, we unwrapped ourselves from the sheets and slowly made our way downstairs.

    That's when everything started.

    We sat at the kitchen table, tea brewing in our mugs, faces glued to computer screens. Skip knocked over items on shelves every once and awhile, breaking our concentration. But then, when all was quiet, Steph started to cough. I looked at her, and she looked at me. Just a scratch in her throat, she said. She drank her tea and I shrugged it off. But then it happened again. As if almost instantly, her voice became raspy and hoarse. She wasn't sick, was she? I heard her cough a couple more times, until she stopped, sat in silence, lips firmly shut. She then proceeded to lift herself from her chair and quickly walked to the bathroom. Curious, I thought. Was she sick? She didn't seem sick earlier this morning. I, too, lifted myself from my chair and followed behind her, keeping my distance. I leaned my body against the wall right beside the bathroom as I heard god-awful coughs and hackling, muffled through the door. I winced each time I heard her forcefully expel the air from her lungs, over and over. Then, there was silence. Steph emerged, startled by my sudden appearance. I asked her if she was alright, taking her hands in mine. She smiled and said that she was fine, that she just coughed up some phlegm, that we should get back to work. I took her word for it and I followed her back to our work space, sat down in my chair, took a sip of tea, and got right back into writing.

    She kept running to the bathroom all day.  
  
  


**Date**

    Since that day, Stephanie had a hard time sleeping at night, due to her new chronic cough. Each morning I woke up, alone, in our shared bed. She would be in the bathroom, her cough would echo into our shared bedroom. I encouraged her to go to the doctor's office, even offering to drive her there myself, but she refused and insisted on 'waiting this out', waiting for whatever she had contracted to pass. But what did she have? The flu? No, can't be. The common cold? Didn't seem so. Bronchitis? Sounded like it, but I couldn't be too sure. I decided to give her a few more days, see if her sinuses cleared themselves out, before I took her to the doctor.

    I felt sorry for her. Every morning, every afternoon, every evening, she looked pale, and sickly, and exhausted. Her face permanently resting in a frown, her eyes, that once sparkled in the sunlight, were dull and bloodshot due to sleep deprivation and stress. Whatever she had, I wish I had instead. I hated seeing her suffer.  
  
  


**Date**

    I woke up to the smell of cat breath in my face. I groaned, opening my eyes to a dimly lit room. Stephanie was nowhere to be seen. But, then, I heard her; her coughs echoing from the bathroom, yet again. That's it. I decided to take her to the doctor.

    I unwrapped myself from the sheets and crept towards the bathroom, each step mirroring each cough she produced. I pushed on the wooden door and whispered her name. She did not respond, but instead stood hunched over the sink. The door creaked as I pushed on it more, allowing my body to fit through it's large frame. I looked at her face through the mirror, noticing every wrinkle, every dark circle, every bead of sweat that fell from her forehead. She looked pale, sickly, shaking. I rushed to her side, wrapped my arms around her thin waist, and placed a soft kiss on her temple in an effort to cheer her up. She smirked at me through the mirror, eyes partially closed due to exhaustion. I told her I was going to drive her to the doctor; she did not argue.

    We sat in the small, sterile room together, my fingers interlaced with hers, resting on her lap. Steph looked at me, and smiled weakly, as if all of the energy that she held in her tiny body was completely drained. I sighed. I told her not to worry, that the doctor will figure out what's wrong, that he will prescribe her medications, that she will feel better and will be able to sleep through the night again. The clock above my head ticked with each passing minute in the silent room. The atmosphere around us quickly turned uncomfortable, stale, unforgiving. We were both anxious for the test results. What if there really was something wrong with her? I shook my head. I have to stop jumping to conclusions.

    The doctor emerged, bringing life into the desolate room. The test results were in; Bronchitis. I knew it. He prescribed medications for she to take, placing the paper in her flimsy hands, and told us to come back if her condition does not improve. I hoped we wouldn't have to.

    On the way home, she fell asleep, her head resting on the car window, drool slowly rolling down her chin. I smiled. This was the first time she slept since that day.  
  
  


**Date**

    Stephanie's cough seemed to get better for a little while --she overall looked more energized and joyful than the days before-- but then the cough came back full force, and she could not sleep again. For the past couple of weeks, she had brushed aside my invitations to bake, shop, and watch movies together, often opting to take a nap instead. I didn't blame her. If I felt as shitty as she did, I would sleep whenever I could too.

    Each night, she went through the same routine: undress, pull my Duke University sweatshirt onto her dainty body, along with a pair of cotton shorts, cough a little, climb into bed with me, lay next to be for about an hour or so, climb out of bed, run to the bathroom, cough up some phlegm, sit on the cold, tiled floor, shaking, for a good fifteen minutes, slowly lift her aching body off of the ground, climb back into bed, cough here and there for a couple of hours, climb back out of bed, run to the bathroom, cough up some phlegm, sit on the cold, tiled floor, shaking, for a good fifteen minutes, slowly lift her aching body off of the ground, climb back into bed, so on and so forth. I became increasingly worried about her health and her mental stability. Day by day, I saw her smile fade, her eyes become glossy and murky, and her body shake as she dragged her feet across the floor. I decided to give her a couple more days before I took her back to the doctor's office.  
  
  


**Date**

    Shit hit the fan, as some may say.

    I woke up to Skip on my chest, licking my face, covering my mouth and nose, suffocating me. I grasped either side of his lanky body and lifted him off of my chest. He meowed at me, angered by my interaction with him. He wiggled out of my hands and jumped off of the bed as I sat up in my spot, scanning the room for Stephanie. She was missing, again. She was in the bathroom, again. Coughing up phlegm from the inner depths of her lungs... again. I leaned my lower back against the door frame, watching her. After flushing the mucus down the drain, she looked at me. She didn't smile. I didn't expect her to.

    Jason and Chris arrived, midday, to work on upcoming theories. All was going pretty well, except that Steph's sudden coughing fit would disrupt our concentration every so often, but no one seemed to care. But then, she lifted herself from her chair and sprinted to the bathroom down the hall. The two other men in the room turned their heads towards me, worried looks written all over their faces, eyes wide with concern, but I just shrugged. I told them to give her some space, that she'll be alright. They sighed. Jason, kept his gaze on his work, but Chris frequently glanced at the door, waiting for her to come back.

Twenty minutes passed, and the door never opened. Chris noticed. After going minutes without saying a word, he interrupted the conversation I was having with Jason, stating that Steph never returned. Jason and I gazed over to the door that was left slightly ajar, due to the fact that she never fully closed it when she left. Chris volunteered to check on her while Jason and I looked at each other, too afraid to speak. Not even a minute after Chris left the room, I heard his voice call for me, panicking.

Stephanie was not alright.

I, too, left my chair and sprinted to the bathroom, just as how she did about a half an hour ago. I grasped the doorframe as I came to a halt. A sudden sting of pain pulsated through my chest as soon as I saw what laid before me. Steph was sprawled on the floor, hair a tangled mess on the white tile, stained in blood --her blood-- that crept from her open mouth. She moaned as Chris rolled her onto her back. She looked as though she was in pain.

    "It sounds like she's having a hard time breathing," Chris stated, placing her carefully into his lap, holding her head against his chest, "Jason, call an ambulance."

    Jason, breathing heavily, left the scene. I felt myself slowly descend to the floor, back pressed firmly against the doorframe, staring into Chris' eyes, searching for an answer as to what had happened. Chris, with his lips pressed firmly together, shook his head. He didn't have a response.

    I held my arms out for Chris to transfer Stephanie to me. She turned her face towards mine, emotionless; dying. She struggled to breathe as pools of blood filled her lungs. I grasped her right hand in mine and held it close to the side of my face. Could she feel my warmth, or did she lose feeling in her extremities already? I had no clue, but I continued to let the tears that fell from my eyes roll down her nimble, fragile, slender hand. I then looked back at Chris. His hands were stained red. Mine were stained, too.

    The nurses looked solemnly at me when I spent the night at the hospital. I sat in a large, cushioned chair, facing her hospital bed. Steph slept quietly, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, with a mask on her face. She looked peaceful. I sighed, watching her, feeling my own drowsiness start to overtake my consciousness. Soon enough, my own body became limp in that hospital chair and I fell asleep.  
  
  


**September 25, 2016**

    "Your wife has lung cancer."

    My breath hitched as the words flowed from the doctor's mouth, calmly, keeping his composure.

    "What do you mean? Her doctor said that she had Bronchitis about a week ago."

    "Our tests say she is positive for lung cancer."

    I slowly stepped away from him, "No, she can't. I can't lose her."

    "I'm sorry, Mr. Patrick. I'll come back with treatment options."

    The doctor left the room, firmly closing the door, leaving an atmosphere of sorrow in his wake. I turned to Stephanie, who still laid on the bed, stirring a little, waking from her slumber. I quickly pushed a chair closer to her, slumped my body into it, and placed my hand on hers. She slightly turned her head in my direction. She must have known I was there. I called her name, but she did not respond with words, but instead made subtle hand movements. She couldn't talk with a mask over her face.

    I gazed at her frail complexion, unsure of what to say. The doctor's words repeated in my head, each 'your wife has lung cancer' became a knife to my chest, causing it to feel as though it were collapsing inward, onto my heart. It became hard to breathe. Was this how she felt?

    Without thinking twice, I expressed my deepest thoughts and emotions to her, though, I don't know how much she actually understood. I told her how much I loved her, how she had made my life better than I could have ever imagined, how her constant love and compassion kept me going every single day, and how I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I ever lost her. She meant everything to me. She did not deserve this.

    At that moment, I wished I had lung cancer instead. I hated seeing her suffer.


	5. Late Nights

**AN:**

**Sorry for publishing two angsty oneshots back-to-back. My original intent was to fit a happier piece between this one and "Date", but I got so invested in writing that I could not stop myself, and I do not want to keep you readers waiting too long for another piece. I promise, the next one I present to you will be fluffy.**

**Don't worry, though, this piece is not as heavy as the last one. There is still a lot of emotional turmoil, but no one gets hurt.**

**Trigger Warnings: Depression, Alcohol, Suicide Mention (don't fret, it ends happily)**

**Also, a special shout-out and thank you to[TheZeldaNerd](https://www.wattpad.com/user/TheZeldaNerd) (on Wattpad) for the prompt ("The silence woke her'") as well as developing the plot with me and helping me write the ending. This would not have been written without you.**

**Love ya, girly.**

\----------------------

The silence woke her. Stephanie lazily rolled onto her abdomen as she stretched a thin, delicate arm to the opposing side of the bed to wrap it around her husband, but all she felt was the cool, silk bed sheets under her fingertips. She sighed heavily as Skip pounced onto the bed beside her and sniffed her hand, brushing his whiskers against her pale skin. Stephanie smiled; it tickled. Skip came closer to her, nudging his nose in her neck, headbutting her cheek. She shook her head and slowly opened her eyes to the dark, desolate room. Skip meowed, breaking through the eerily silent atmosphere, which prompted Stephanie to throw her arm over the side of the bed and tug on the lamp cord on her nightstand. The light flooded the room, bringing it to life, illuminating the empty mattress next to her body. Blinking a few times to help her eyes adjust, she sat up in her spot and rubbed the crown of Skip's head as he continued to rub his face against her. _Why is he acting so weird?_ She asked herself as she turned her gaze away from her beloved cat and to the ruffled sheets that lay still next to her. _Where is Matthew?_

"Matthew?" she whispered, voice barely audible as her body slowly started to come to life. She cleared her throat, "Matthew?" she said again, voice still raspy but this time louder so he could hear her. There was no response.

Skip meowed again, pushing on her thighs --that still lay under the sheets-- with his front paws. "What's wrong bud?" she asked, grabbing either side of his lanky body and cradling him in her arms. He instantly jumped from his position, ran off the bed, and bolted to the door. He waited for her to follow. Stephanie, with her head pounding from her sudden wake, cocked her head to the side and scrunched her nose, unsure of what Skip wanted. Was he hungry? Did he need more water? But then, the wrinkled sheets next to her, that once sat in her peripheral view, caught her eye again, and she put two and two together.

Stephanie grasped the sheets that wrapped around her and tore them away from her small, delicate body, throwing them onto the other side of the bed. She embraced the cold, stale air, shivering as she placed her feet on the wooden floor below her. She staggered slightly as she moved forward, head spinning from her sudden shift in position mixed with uneasy feelings about the current situation. _Where is Matthew?_ Was he on the floor? Sometimes he fell off of the bed while he was deep in sleep. Stephanie peered around the bedframe to the wood that lay below Matthew's side of the bed. He was not there. Was he in the bathroom? Maybe the dinner Matthew prepared was not sitting well with him. It certainly was not sitting well with her. She slowly moved towards the door that connected the bathroom to their bedroom and firmly placed her fist in the center of it, slowly pounding her knuckles against its wooden frame. There was no response. She then wrapped her nimble fingers on the circular handle and pushed her body against the door, opening it slightly, bringing Stephanie into the dark, cold room.

"Matthew?" she whispered, scanning the small bathroom for him, but he was not there.

Skip meowed as she closed the door once more with a faint _click_. She looked at him, and then looked at the door that he sat in front of, the one that led out of the bedroom and into the hallway. It was left slightly ajar. _I thought I closed that when I went to bed. Matthew must have opened it again._ Stephanie inched towards Skip, who used the side of his face to open the door just enough for him to fit his body through. She grasped the edge of the wooden slate and tugged. A gush of cold air blew in her direction, brushing the small curls and split ends off of her collarbones and onto her shoulders. She shuddered but continued to move into the darkness that filled the hallway.

Stephanie strode down the hall carefully and quietly as she heaved her limber toes along the frozen floor. Her hand, firmly resting on the wall next to her, dragged as her body moved forward to give her a sense of stability in the darkness that consumed her. As she passed doors, similar to the one that led to their shared bedroom, she checked for the presence of her husband. Was he in the office? Sometimes, Matthew would wake in the early hours of the morning after finishing a dream that had sparked inspiration in him, and he would make the effort to jot down his ideas in his office before he lost them. Tonight, he was not there. Was he in the recording closet? Sometimes, when Matthew had a hard time falling asleep, he would lock himself in that closet. Stephanie had a hard time understanding why he did that, especially in mornings where she would find him sound asleep on the closet's rug, but to Matthew, it was a place of solace and comfort --only second to resting in Stephanie's embrace, but he hated waking her in the middle of her slumber. But, as Stephanie pulled back the closet doors, he was nowhere to be seen.

Cautiously, she descended down the staircase, hands gliding against the banister for support, gaze glued to the ground to make sure that she did not miss a step, or trip over Skip, as he plopped his body on every platform next to her. Once her feet pressed against the ground floor, she peered over the railing and down the front hallway. He was not there. She then quietly moved to the livestreaming room and pushed on the door. The livestreaming room was one of the least likely places he could be located, but it did not hurt to check. As she stepped across the threshold, all she saw were the faint, colored lights, blinking, on the recording equipment. There was not a single presence of life. Stephanie sighed, closing the door once more, and diligently moved towards the living room. Sometimes, when Matthew was working on theories late at night, he would sit on the living room couch and type away on his laptop as to not disturb Stephanie, fully aware that she was a light sleeper. Stephanie turned the corner and firmly placed her hand on the wall of the living room, hoping to see the loving face of her husband illuminated by the iridescent laptop screen. But, he was not there either. Stephanie let her hand slowly descend until it no longer touched the wall and rested beside her body again. A growing sense of anxiety started to overtake her consciousness now that she was fully awake. The lack of Matthew's presence disturbed her, sent chills up her spine, and made her stomach turn. Stephanie turned away from the desolate room and started to move down the hall, hearing faint noises from the kitchen. She sighed as she listened to the faint pitter-patter of cat feet against the kitchen's tiled floor. _He must be getting into something again_. Skip had the tendency to grow more mischievous at night whilst Matthew and Stephanie slept. She was usually the one to respond to his antics for Matthew slept like a rock. Still, Stephanie could not shake the feeling of dread as she crept towards the kitchen, each step accelerating her heart rate. The atmosphere in the house seemed stale, unforgiving.

As Stephanie leaned into the caliginous room, her eyes immediately fixated on a dark figure, slumped over the granite island counter.

"Matthew?"  
  


She crept closer, analyzing what laid before her. The moonlight, that filtered through the window just above the sink on the opposing wall, illuminated the brown, matted hair that sunk into the weak, pale arms of her husband. She looked to his left and noticed Skip sitting on the counter, pawing at his shoulder, looking for a response, to which he did not receive one. She then looked to his right where a half-empty bottle of beer laid and beside it sat another, empty bottle, but one much smaller in size; one that would hold pills.

"Matthew!"

Stephanie rushed to his side, her footsteps like a rolling thunder in the silent room. She pulled his limp body off of the counter and held his head against her chest. His face, that she had once recognized as one that displayed love and optimism at all hours, was stained with the tears that he had not bothered to wipe from his cold and clammy skin. He moaned, disturbed by her sudden presence, as he slowly tried to open his eyes, but instantly closed them once more. He winced in pain as his back throbbed from being in the hunched position for hours. Stephanie felt her chest collapse as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She gazed at Matthew's complexion. He looked weak as he started to lean his body onto hers. She then looked at the empty pill bottle that lay beside her arm.

_Did he try to commit suicide?_

Stephanie's eyes widened as she frantically searched the kitchen for their house phone to call the paramedics, fearing for Matthew's life, but before she could move away, Matthew pressed his body against her chest and wrapped his arms around her waist, his weight preventing her from slipping from his grasp.

"Matthew, let go! You need medical help!"

Stephanie tried desperately to free herself from her husband's arms but to no avail. Panic started to settle, causing her mind to wander to dark and dangerous places rather quickly. _Why did he do this?_ She asked herself as she looked at Matthew, who slowly sunk into her chest more and more, making it harder for her to breathe. _I can't lose him_. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she used her nimble fingers to pry herself out of his grasp, but Matthew responded by pulling her body closer to his.

"S-stephanie," he stuttered, "d-don't leave me."

"Matthew, I would never," she exclaimed, voice hiccuping slightly as she grasped the sides of his face and forced him to look at her. He looked exhausted, stressed, and a little drunk; the smell of alcohol lingering in his breath. Small droplets of water rolled down her cheeks at an agonizingly slow pace, breaking through her dry skin. Matthew noticed instantly and, despite his slight intoxicated state, he unlaced his fingers from behind Stephanie's back and brought a hand to her eyes to instinctively wipe the tears from her delicate face.

Stephanie grasped his hand in hers, "I need to call a parametric."

Matthew sluggishly shook his head, "They're antidepressants."

Stephanie stopped moving and settled in his embrace. She raised her hand and buried her slender fingers in his shaggy hair, slowly combing through his locks to comfort him. She then locked her soft brown eyes with his as more tears slid down her cheeks.

"How many did you take?"

"Only two," he sighed, glancing at the empty bottle on the counter next to his wife, "they were ... they were the last two. I need to get m-more."

"Where did you get them from?"

"My doctor," Matthew tilted his head slightly, gazing back at his wife, who displayed a hint of concern in her eyes; the same chocolate-brown eyes that sparkled in the moonlight. _God, she's so beautiful_. He smiled sadly, aware that she did not know about his late-night doctor visits and therapy sessions. His original plan was to keep this a secret, to not tell Stephanie, hoping that this 'funk' that he had felt would blow over soon enough, but regret started to settle into his mind as soon as Stephanie broke her eye contact with him; unsure of what to say or do. How could he keep something like this from her? They were married; for better or for worse. Why did he decide to go through this alone? Did he not trust her?

"I'm s-sorry, Steph," he stuttered as more tears clouded his vision, "I didn't want to ... hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Stephanie asked, her voice cutting through the growing intensity of the atmosphere between them; her tone unsteady and a little too blunt. She sounded... angry. Matthew's grip around her waist tightened, which prompted Stephanie to look at him again. He looked lost, uneasy, and depressed. She had never seen him this way before, which terrified her. Who was this man in her arms and what did he do with her loving husband?

But then, her face softened. This was her loving husband. He was still there, with her. But, instead of pretending to be happy, he was showing his true emotions. Matthew made the choice to hide this melancholy from everyone, including his wife, in fear of upsetting his loved ones and his viewers. He had always been considered to be the 'sunshine on a cloudy day', and he was determined to keep that image, despite the depression that welled inside of him, slowly destroying his mind and body. Although Stephanie felt a little angered by the fact that Matthew tried to hide this from her, she started to understand why. He wanted to be a perfect husband, and he believed that he could not fulfill that duty if he was not her 'sunshine'.

The silence between them was deafening. As the world around Matthew moved like molasses, he focused his attention on Stephanie --on her actions-- afraid that she would yell at him or push him onto the cold island counter and drag herself back to bed, leaving him alone to wallow in his self-hatred. But, she did not. Instead, she cupped his face as she sharply inhaled, determined hold back the warm tears that flooded her eyes. She brushed Matthew's hair off of his forehead, letting her fingers linger tenderly on his soft skin, and smiled weakly.

"Oh, Matthew."

Matthew's breath hitched. Her voice, though like thunder in his pounding head, comforted him as her arms wrapped around his torso, her elbows lodged in his armpits, in an attempt to comfort him while supporting his body as he laid his head against her beating heart. It was loud, but soothing. He sighed as he softened in her embrace; his place of solace and comfort. Stephanie bowed her head and placed a soft and gentle kiss on his hairline.

"What's wrong?"

He sighed as he buried his face into her chest, wishing that he could melt into her and lose himself in her geniality, avoiding the question that he did not desire to answer. Matthew refused to break the walls that he had built to hold back the raging emotions that brewed inside of him, not wanting place his burden on Stephanie's shoulders. He did not want to destroy her, too. Stephanie felt his nose pierce her ribs as he sunk deeper and deeper into her skin, forcing her to take shallow breaths due to his weight, but she did not push him away. She slightly shook her head as she combed her fingers through his hair once again, aware that he did not want to speak about the situation. But, as she glanced at the beer and the empty pill bottle, Stephanie made a silent promise to Matthew that she will never let him go through this alone. Against his will, she pressed further.

"Please tell me."

Matthew lightly tugged at the sides of Stephanie's t-shirt and wrapped his fingers in the thin cloth, swirling them, tangling them in the fabric as tears warmed his eyes. His body shook in her embrace; breath quickening, anxiety flooding his consciousness, as the buzz that clouded his mind started to wear off.

"But ... but I don't want to--"

"Please."

Her voice, soft but unyielding, with a hint of pain and sorrow, distressed Matthew. He was hurting her. All of this --the depression, the lies, the late nights--, everything that he kept from Stephanie to protect her, was eating her alive. She just wanted to help him, to make him radiant and cheerful again, to stick by him because he was her husband and she wanted to give him the world. But, as she held Matthew in her arms, she realized that she couldn't. She was forced to sit on the sidelines and watch him suffer and no matter how many times she had extended a hand towards him, Matthew never grabbed it. But, she hoped that this night would be different, that Matthew would realize he needed her, that he would let her help him because she loved him more than anything else. She refused to let him fade away. But, did Matthew know that?

Matthew pulled away from her chest, shivering as he removed himself from his source of warmth. His head leveled with Stephanie's but he dared not look at her. He was not emotionally ready to. Stephanie's eyes softened as she placed a firm hand on his cheek, thumb grazing over his lips before residing next to his nose. She smiled sadly as the tears that she had held back started to spill onto her tender complexion once again. Matthew closed his eyes and gently wrapped a hand around her wrist, but he did not remove her fingers from his cold and clammy skin. Instead, he let her linger there. He smiled slightly, forever grateful for her comfort and compassion for him. _I don't deserve her_ he thought to himself as his smile slowly faded, _but she deserves to know_.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Matthew asked, voice barely audible, but loud enough to break the silence between them.

"Yes."

Matthew sighed as he pulled further away from Stephanie and turned his aching body to face the counter, placed an elbow on the cold granite, and rested his chin in the palm of his left hand. Stephanie, to his right, laced her fingers with his to show him support and to remind him that she was there, even if he did not want to look at her.

He breathed deeply in an effort to calm his nerves as his body shook in the metal stool.

"I just ... I just ..."

The wall was breaking, the water was flowing once more, and his words came out quickly as, what seemed to be, a run on sentence:

"I'm not happy and I bet you're saying 'no brainer Matthew' but Steph, I'm really ... not happy. Like, I don't know what it is. No wait, I lied, I know exactly what it is," he sighed, "It's just, ya know, we are getting older and I'm like, what, thirty? We've been married for five years and I still haven't provided a family for you because of these damn channels consuming all of our time. I don't know, I guess I'm starting to feel my own mortality," he felt Stephanie's fingers tighten around his own, but he did not acknowledge it, nor did he stop talking, "and lately, I haven't been a good husband, focusing more on everything but you, ya know? I bet you've felt it too. I've been more distant lately, not like I want to be. We don't go out as much as we used to, we don't watch movies as much as we used to, we don't spend time together as much as we used to. I think the most time we spend together is when we are in bed, but we are both sleeping. And, I feel as though I'm not there for you when you need me ..." his voice trailed off for a moment, trying to compile his thoughts. Stephanie squeezed his hand again, waiting for him to continue, unintentionally causing him to focus his attention on her. _Look at her, holding your hand_ he sighed _She is always here for you, even when you don't want her to be, and what have you done for her?_ Matthew held his breath for a moment as a sudden sting of pain pulsated through his chest. _Nothing_.

He forced himself to continue despite the tears that he had held back finally spilling onto his flushed cheeks, "but you are always here for me," he whispered, voice raspy and hoarse, " I don't deserve you."

"No--"

"Stephanie," Matthew interrupted as he quickly turned his face towards her, streams of salty water sparkling in the moonlight, "You deserve better."

Before Stephanie had the opportunity to react, Matthew lunged at her, almost knocking her off of her stool, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as he buried his face in her soft neck. At first, his cries were muffled. Stephanie sighed as she started to stroke his back, but then her breath quickened and her body tensed as Matthew grew louder and louder. Her body started to tremble as Matthew's tears and saliva coated her skin. He shook uncontrollably against her body. Stephanie tried desperately to steady him by wrapping her arms around his torso, holding him close to her torso, but she was unsuccessful. Matthew's wails pierced her ears, sending chills down her spine. She did not know what to do; she had never seen him so broken.

Matthew, afraid that he was scaring his wife, bit the sleeve of her t-shirt in an effort to muffle himself once again, in a desperation to smother his depression in her warmth and smell, but the dam was long broken. He could not stop himself.

Then, he felt Stephanie's gentle hand move through his hair once again, rubbing gentle circles into his scalp, calming him, reminding him that she was still there, with him. His heart-wrenching wails slowly softened to gentle cries and hiccups, and then to nothing. Silence --except for the occasional sniffle. Stephanie opened her mouth to say something, but her voice failed her. Instead, she placed a gentle kiss on Matthew's temple once he calmed himself and cradled his head with her free arm, trying to pull him as close to her as she could. She listened to him, his sporadic breathing and his slight whimpers, as her mind continuously replayed his screams of terror in her head. He was scared. He was scared of his mortality. He was scared of the way he treated her. He was scared that she would leave him for someone better. Someone he thought she deserved. Stephanie's breath hitched, hurt by how little Matthew thought of himself. Did he really believe that he was not a good husband?

She could not have asked for anyone better.

"Hey, Matthew," she whispered. Matthew lifted his head from her shoulder and locked his bloodshot eyes with hers.

"I love you."

Matthew smiled sadly, about to protest, but Stephanie continued before he had the chance, "You say you're a bad husband, but you really aren't. We have known each other for ten years now, and you have shown me nothing but love and compassion every single day, all the way from when I believed that you were just my gay friend to holding you, my loving husband, in my arms tonight. Every step of the way, you encouraged me to be the best version of myself and when I doubted my abilities, you were right behind me, ready to support me, to tell me that I am worth something when I felt worthless. For the past ten years, I have felt your unconditional love for me. You stuck with me, through thick and thin. We graduated together, rented an apartment together, were poor together, changed our jobs together, moved to LA together, own a house, and a cat, together, run three successful youtube channels together, travel together, love each other. I said 'yes' for a reason, I said 'I do' for a reason. I want to start a family with you ... for a reason. That reason? Because I love you more than anything in this world. You mean everything to me, no matter how happy or how depressed you may be. You will forever be the man that I fell for in college and who I promised to spend the rest of my life with, to grow old with, for better or for worse, through sickness and in health. You have been nothing but a source of happiness to me, even on nights like this. You are the reason why I love to wake up in the morning," she placed a gentle hand on his cheek, "to see you lay next to me, and wake up with me, glowing in the morning sun's rays," She sighed, "I know that we haven't been spending as much time together as we'd like to, with the meetings and piles of work. I get it. I've felt pretty distant too. But, please, we are not growing apart. Not in the slightest."

"Y-you really don't think --"

"No."

Matthew chuckled slightly, "You don't even know what I was going to say."

Stephanie smiled as she captured him in her embrace, catching him a little off guard, but he quickly softened next to her chest once again.

"I'm sorry, Steph."

"For what?"

"For tonight," he sighed, "for everything. I should've told you about this instead of hiding the meds. I just, I didn't want to place this burden on you too. You are already so busy running Game Theory and stuff and I didn't want to put more on your plate. I just wanted to be your ray of sunshine," his voice started to break, but he forced himself to continue, "but, last time I checked, the sun doesn't shine on a rainy day."

Stephanie buried her face in his neck, smiling, "There are always sunshowers."

"What?"

"Mat, there is no such thing as 'perfect', we both know that. You're not perfect, I'm not perfect --"

"I'd like to formally protest --"

"Oh shush," she laughed, gently slapping his back, "Matthew, it's okay to break every once and awhile. It's okay to be sad. It's okay because I am here for you. You are still the caring and compassionate man, who has a weird affinity for puns and memes, that I agreed to marry. That I love. You are still my stunning, handsome husband, 'less-desirable' traits and all."

Matthew smiled, Stephanie's voice calming his nerves. He breathed deeply next to her skin, focusing on her soft, warm smell; a scent that felt safe to him, one that reminded him of home. He opened his eyes and gazed at her shirt sleeves that loosely hung around her thin arms. A little too loosely.

"Is this my shirt?"

Stephanie chuckled, "Sorry. It smelt like you, so I decided to sleep in it."

"It smelt like me ... so you decided to ... sleep in it?" Matthew smiled into her neck, teeth grazing against her skin.

"Yeah, it was comforting. Do you have a problem with that?" Stephanie questioned, playfully, rubbing circles in his lower back, kissing the side of his head.

Matthew's body softened, sinking further into her embrace, "Not at all."

Stephanie giggled quietly, holding him in her arms. Silence consumed the room once again, but this time, the atmosphere was not uncomfortable and, despite the chill that swept through the house, they relished in the warmth of each other. As the sky just outside of the window started to gray with the approaching morning sun, Matthew slumped his body against Stephanie, drained of all energy, both physically and emotionally. In her warm embrace, he finally drifted asleep. Stephanie sighed deeply, expelling old air from her lungs, as the weight on her chest grew in intensity. She tried to lift his body, but she quickly realized that Matthew was a lot heavier than he looked and that she, too, was stripped of her energy and vigor. Defeated, she decided that it would not hurt to sleep downstairs for a couple of hours until she and Matthew gained enough strength to make the hike back to their bedroom. She smiled, letting her own drowsiness overtake her; her chin resting in the nook of his neck.

As the night passed, the only sounds that could be heard in the house were the soft inhale and exhale of gentle breathing and the rhythmic pounding of synced heartbeats. Everything was calm; the storm had passed and what remained were two souls, intertwined between two metal stools, resting in each other's embrace. And, after the late nights, the doctor's visits, the therapy sessions, the empty mattress, the alcohol, the medications, the sorrow, the heartbreak, and the tears, Matthew and Stephanie finally found peace within themselves and within each other, which, in the end, was all they could have asked for.


	6. Yesterday

"Would you like more tea, Steph?"

Stephanie lifted her head off of her husband's torso as soon as she felt his voice rumble in his chest. She blinked slowly, head spinning from her sudden shift in position. Noticing her uneasiness, Matthew cupped the sides of her face in his hands, to which she let her head sink deeper into his grasp, and smiled. Matthew smiled back. He brought her face closer to his and kissed her forehead. She replied with a sneeze.

Stephanie opened her eyes once more, only to see her spit and mucus line her husband's face. "Sorry," she mumbled, throat too sore to say anything else.

Matthew chuckled as he wiped her germs away with the back of his hand, "Bless you."

She laid her head back on his chest and intertwined her legs with his underneath the blanket that they shared. Matthew gently stroked her tangled hair, then placed his hand on her forehead as she started to doze off once again. She felt hot. And so did he.

They were sick. They've been sick all day.

Matthew woke up first with a loud sneeze, instantly clogging his sinuses with mucus, rendering him unable to breathe through his nose. It was uncomfortable to say the least. Stephanie woke up soon after with a sore throat. Seeing his wife struggle to lift her aching body off of the bed, Matthew captured her in his embrace, and kissed her forehead. She melted into his arms and sighed.

Matthew sneezed. Stephanie shivered. They canceled their plans for the day.

Unfortunately, despite how sick they were, Skip still demanded attention --and food. Stephanie heaved her feet across the kitchen's tiled floor and fed their beloved cat while Matthew let his aching body sink into the brown cushions, stretching his legs across the entire length of the couch, and started to flip through the channels on the television. Stephanie grumbled as soon as she entered the room --Matthew refused to make room for her too-- so she laid her body on top of his. Matthew did not mind at all.

This is how they stayed for most of the day, legs and arms tangled with each other, Stephanie's head laying on Matthew's chest, listening to his soothing heartbeat, Matthew enjoying the pressure that Stephanie's weight put on his body. It was comforting and she was warm as chills ran down his spine every-so-often. Despite the cold that consumed their strength, they were content with how they spent their day, only separating for bathroom breaks and the occasional cup of tea.

Speaking of which, Stephanie never answered Matthew's question.

"So, I'm going to take your sneeze as a 'no thank you' to the tea," Matthew chuckled.

Stephanie hummed in agreement. Even that seemed to hurt her throat.

Matthew sighed, messaging Stephanie's scalp with one hand while working the television remote with the other, "Who's bright idea was it to swim in the ocean so late at night?" he laughed.

Stephanie mumbled, voice muffled in Matthew's chest, "Yours."

 _Oh right_...

\--------

"Matthew, I don't think this is a good idea," Stephanie called, arms crossed upon her chest. She wiggled her toes deeper into the cool sand and took a deep breath. The salt in the air filled her nostrils with a familiar scent; the scent of her childhood. Back in North Carolina, the Cordato family practically lived at the beach during the summer and, as Stephanie watched her husband inch closer to the ocean waves in the distance, she thought of home.

She was ecstatic to share her admiration for the beach with Matthew, but they were supposed to leave the house earlier that day, when the weather was warm and the sun burned the pavement. Unfortunately, on the way out the door, they were called to a meeting that lasted longer than they had hoped, but Matthew refused to let the rest of the evening go to waste. So, the two Patricks threw some clothes on over their bathing suits and continued with their plans. Stephanie had thought that he would like to have a romantic walk along the shore, which she was all for. Now, even though their only light source was the moon cascading over the reflective waves, Matthew's figure moved threateningly close to the water, enticing Stephanie to join him. She sighed. No one should be swimming in that water at ten o'clock at night. She brought her sweatshirt sleeves (which were actually Matthew's) to her face as cool air swept across her body, lightly brushing against the small strands of hair that were slowly falling from her messy bun.

"Oh come on Steph!" Matthew called back, voice faint from the distance growing between them, but that did not stop him from straining his vocal chords, "Don't be such a party-pooper!"

"I hardly think this is a 'party'," Stephanie mumbled.

"What?" Matthew asked, only hearing part of her snarky remark.

"Nothing."

Matthew laughed at his wife --the way she stood, arms crossed, face resting in a pout. She looked angry, but a fake angry. The kind of angry Matthew thought was cute because he knew that he was not in trouble. He sighed, studying Stephanie intently as the moonlight reflected off of her pale skin. He noticed the way her chestnut-colored strands of hair lined the sides of her face and how her body swayed in the slight breeze. The longer he looked at her, the more she raised her sleeve-covered hands closer to her face. Matthew smiled to himself.

 _She's so beautiful_.

Beautiful was an understatement. She was so gorgeous, so stunning, so _alluring_. It was as if he was falling in love with her all over again.

The further he moved away from his wife, the closer she inched towards him, leaving long paths of footprints as she dragged her feet in the sand. Without realizing, Stephanie found herself dangerously close to the water that she had no desire to step foot in. Matthew, recognizing that Stephanie became mesmerized by the ocean's soothing waves, took this opportunity to approach her, grab the sweatshirt from her stomach, and lift it over her torso, completely blocking her view of the world.

"Matthew Patrick what are you doing?" Her voice was muffled from the cloth that covered her face.

Matthew laughed as she escaped her cocoon. More strands of hair fell out of her bun, to which he brushed away with the back of his hand.

"I can't let you get my sweatshirt all wet, now can I?"  
  
"Huh?"

In one swift motion, Matthew lunged at Stephanie, throwing her body over his back, turned around, and headed towards the shoreline. She tried her hardest to escape his grasp, but he had a good hold on her, determined to get her into the water. Why? Because he loved to mess with her. There was really no other reason.

"Matthew let me go!"

He ignored her request, but smiled. He was definitely going to sleep on the couch once they got home for what he was about to do, but it was worth it.

Matthew shivered as his toes touched the ocean water, but that did not stop him from moving forward. Goosebumps lined the surface of his skin the deeper he submerged his body, but he did not care to notice. Stephanie, on the other hand, felt the small bumps rub against her skin, and she was scared for what was about to come.

The water had to be freezing in order for Matthew to get goosebumps, and she was neither physically nor mentally prepared to be thrown into it.

But Matthew did it anyways.

As soon as the water level reached his waist, he lifted Stephanie off of his shoulder and heaved her into the icy black ocean, completely losing her in the abyss. To say 'the water was cold' would be an understatement. It was freezing. As Stephanie's mouth and nostrils filled with salt, she planted her feet into the soft mud beneath her and hoisted her body back to the surface, emerging from the ocean's waves once more, face covered in salt water and hair.

"You're a jerk."

Matthew laughed as he grabbed his wife's hair and pulled the wet strands away from her face as she expelled the water from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You okay, Steph?"

That was a stupid question. She was wearing nothing but a bikini in water that froze her body so much that it hurt.

  
"Matthew, I'm shivering, my teeth are chattering, and my body feels frozen in place," she grumbled as she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, desperately trying to trap her body heat so she would not die of hypothermia, "Does that sound 'okay' to you?"

Matthew was unsure if she was still fake angry or real angry. Regardless, the consequences of his actions started to dawn on him as he watched his tiny wife's body shake uncontrollably, and he reached out to give her a nice, warm hug. But then, unexpectedly, he felt cold fingers wrap around his wrists that were then dragged downward, followed by the rest of his body. Soon enough, his mouth and nostrils were also clogged with that god-awful salt water that made him want to puke due to its vile taste. Then, his wrists were pulled up, over his head, towards the surface and soon enough his body emerged from the water. He faced a giggling Stephanie.

"You deserved that."

Matthew laughed along with his wife, body shivering just like hers, but, instead of getting out of the water while their skin was still peachy and not blue, Matthew swore revenge.

"I'm gonna get you for that."

"No you won't!"  
  
Stephanie tried her hardest to run towards the shore once more, but the current of the water made it hard for her to move forward. Matthew encountered the same issue. So, there they were, the two Patricks playing in the ocean, trying their hardest to run after each other despite the barrier of water that laid between them. As they approached the shore, Matthew caught up to Stephanie and lunged at her again, this time knocking her onto her stomach, letting the water coat her back. But, then, he lost his footing and fell onto the sand next to her. She laughed at him, splashing water in his face, to which he retaliated by grabbing a handful of mud from beneath him and smearing it all over Stephanie's shoulders. Needless to say, she was appalled and tried desperately to smear mud onto him, but he rolled away too quickly. So, she threw the clump of wet sand that she held in her hand and it landed right on his abdomen.

The more they teased each other, the more they swore revenge until Matthew's body crushed Stephanie's as the icy water washed upon them. Without hesitation, Matthew planted his salt-covered lips onto hers, unable to keep his love for her at bay. She smiled, enjoying the moment that passed between them. Maybe this beach trip was not so bad after all.

As Matthew pulled away, he studied the way the moonlight reflected off of her body once more, and noticed that her lips had a slight blue tint to them. As much as they loved attacking each other by the light of the moon, their bodies were freezing from the inside out.

Matthew caressed Stephanie's face once again, lightly brushing his thumb against the side of her cheek and smiled.

"We should probably get out, huh?"  
  
Stephanie nodded, noticing that his lips were blue as well. Matthew removed himself from his wife and, before she had the chance to stand up, he placed a firm hand on her spine and the back of her knees and lifted her from the water, bridal style. As he trudged back to shore, Stephanie could not help but think about how much she loved her husband. Even though he just threw her into the coldest water she had ever touched, he made sure that this night was going to be a night to remember by showing her how much he loved being with her, no matter what the circumstance. That, to Stephanie, was admirable. He knew exactly the kind of relationship she wanted (the 'romantic companionship'); a relationship where there was no need for extravagant displays of affection because every little thing they do together is an adventure on its own. In all honesty, Stephanie could not have asked for anyone more perfect than Matthew.

Stephanie sighed and Matthew smiled. As he carried her back to the shore, he could not help but think of how lucky he was to have Stephanie in his life. Who would let him throw them into freezing cold water and then tease him until their lips turned blue? Stephanie would. The more he thought about his antics, the more he realized that she tolerated a lot on a day-to-day basis, but he knew that she did not mind. He knew that she loved him for who he was; the caring and compassionate man, not the youtube personality. That, to Matthew, was admirable. Not to mention she risked her own financial stability just to be with him and, no matter what the situation, she never gave up on him. She believed in him when the rest of the world refused to give him a chance. In all honesty, Matthew could not have asked for anyone more perfect than Stephanie.

Stephanie slipped out of his hold and onto the soft sand beneath her feet. She grabbed the sweatshirt that Matthew tore off of her and slipped it onto her body once again. It was warm. Matthew wrapped his arm around her, and they walked back to the car together, more than satisfied with their beach trip.

\---

"We were idiots last night," Stephanie grumbled, grabbing a tissue from the box on the ground, next to the couch.

Matthew sighed, finally settling on a channel to watch, "It seemed like a good idea yesterday."

Stephanie smiled as she buried her body deeper into her husband. As much as she hated being sick, he was right, it was a good idea.

Matthew wrapped his arm around Stephanie's frame as she drifted back to sleep in his embrace. He leaned against the wall of pillows he hand made against the couch's armrest, and sunk his body into the plush, sniffled, then drifted back to sleep as well, letting the television slowly fade into white noise.

Yeah, they were sick because of some poor decisions they had made the night before, but who cares? Surely, they did not. Despite the freezing water and their sore throats, the experience that they had shared at the beach was something that they will never be able to recreate; something that they will never forget. And, as Stephanie sank further into Matthew's chest, and as Matthew sank further into the couch, they relished in the warmth of each other, glad that they could share these adventures together, not wanting to live their lives any other way. 


	7. Things Will Never Change for Us at All

**AN:**

**If you have not read** **_Lay With Me_ ** **yet, I would advise you to check that out** **_first_ ** **because this oneshot plays off of that.**

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10538604/chapters/23269464

**A huge thank you to** **[TheZeldaNerd](https://www.wattpad.com/user/TheZeldaNerd) (on Wattpad)** **for writing** **_Lay With Me_ ** **with me. Without you, that fic would have never happened.**

**Also, another huge thank you to** **[raindrop_fairy_](https://www.wattpad.com/user/raindrop_fairy_) (on Wattpad)** **for helping me map out this oneshot and giving me ideas for what to include in it. If, after you read this, would like to read something a little (a lot) more fluffy, check out her oneshot** **_Lullabies_ ** **(on Wattpad) ! It's super cute!**

**As always, I love you guys so much. Thank you for supporting my writing, no matter how much you want to kick my ass for this angst.**

__________________

 _I love you_.

Those three words were among the last she ever said to me. My loving wife.

Stephanie.

I just wish I could've said the same, but, before I had the chance, the world around me was consumed by a white fog that soon turned black. I could no longer hear the birds chirp in the trees, the cars pass by, or Stephanie's cries. Everything around me, that once made my heart swell with joy, faded into nothing, leaving me alone in the void. Where was I? And what happened to me?

All I remember is being with Steph, laying on the ground. She was crying, but I'm not sure why, and then she left. Or, more like, I left. And, now, I stand in the midst of fog, approached by figures that I know are human but I can't recognize. They are all blobs to me, fading into the shadows of what I think are buildings and cars, but I'm not sure.

All I can see is the sidewalk beneath my feet and my red hands.

Frustrated, I walk forward, each step landing on a crack in the cement that has seen better days. I don't know where I am, I don't know how I got here, but I have to find Stephanie. I have to tell her that I love her just one last time. She has to know. I wonder what she's doing right now. She must be so scared and alone. Maybe, she's at the house with Skip. The house. Our home. She's probably there. She's most definitely there. But, which way was it again?

Determined, I keep moving, phasing through the blobs of figures that neither have faces nor emotions. I hope I didn't pass her by mistake. What if I can't distinguish her from the masses? What if she's one of them? One of those blobs? No. She's too important to me. I can pick Stephanie out of a crowd. Always have, always will.

In the midst of the fog, something catches my eye. There stands the shadow of a small wall. Behind it, there are large figures of, what I think are, trees. I smell barbecue and spring air. Is this a park? It kind of resembles one.

I change my course and head straight for that place, completely unaware of the foggy world that surrounds me. I can hear voices; voices of little kids playing tag and climbing trees, voices of adults sitting and chatting during their lunch breaks, voices of elders talking to the small squirrels that beg for food. But, I can't see them. Faintly, I think I can hear someone calling my name as if this park were enticing me to come and play. I'm not sure why, though. What is so significant about this place? As determined as I am to find Steph, I can't help by stop by.

I step through the small opening in the wall, placing my hand on its surface, only to phase through it. I should know better by now. I'm just a spirit, a ghost. I can't touch anything because I am nothing but mist.

But how did I get this way? And why are my red hands so vivid?

Wandering through the fog, I see nothing but shadows of what I once knew were people. I wonder if any of them would recognize me. I can't recognize them.

But then, as I turn away from the figures that walk through me, I see color in the distance. Red. Red and white. A red and white blanket. And, upon it sits someone who looks so familiar, with her long, brown hair and slim figure. I can see her clearly, in all of her beauty.

No. It can't be. Can it?

 _Stephanie_?

I run to her, arms open wide, ready to envelop her in my embrace, but, as I approach her, I phase through her. She shivers, tears rolling, slowly, down her cheeks, splattering onto her jeans. I ask her what's wrong, but she doesn't respond. She can't hear me. She can't see me. She doesn't know I'm here. But, now that I've found her, I won't leave her.

I survey my surroundings once again. I cannot see anything but her, but I know we are at a park. Why isn't she at home?

I gaze into her eyes; her murky brown, bloodshot eyes. She stares right through me. I touch her arm, trying to reach out to her, but she shivers and pulls her cardigan over her shoulders as if a small breeze brushed against her skin. She's crying. Silently. Small sniffles escape as her body quivers, but she's desperately trying to hold it together.

Beside her sits a brown wicker picnic basket, and to the side of her leg sits a half-eaten blueberry pie. Funny, I didn't think she liked blueberries. Next to the basket sits a calendar. It's May, and on the page, the first through the eighteenth are exed out in red. Today is May nineteenth. The day of our anniversary.

Was she recreating our anniversary?

Our last anniversary?

But, why? Why is she crying? What happened that day? I remember we had a picnic, then we walked home, then we laid on the ground, and then black. Why was she trying to recreate that day?

I lift my hands to caress her face, to tell her that everything is okay, to show her that I'm here, but all I see is blood. There's blood on my hands.

 _My_ blood.

Right before my eyes, my skin turns pale --as pale as Stephanie's is right now as she stares off into the distance, unmoving, void of emotion. I see blood surround me, sinking into the soft dirt beneath me, emitted from my stomach and seeping from between my lips.

I was murdered the day of our five year anniversary.

I looked back to the calendar. May 2020. It's been two years. I've been dead for two years. But, it seems like just two minutes ago, I heard her say ' _I love you_ '.

Funny how time works, isn't it?

She hiccuped, losing the battle between her sadness and her dignity, raising a faded-blue plush dog to her face in an effort to stifle her tears; to comfort her.

Bleu. She brought Bleu with her. It's the closest thing that she has to me.

Seeing her like this, so torn and destroyed, is heartbreaking. Her once cheerful facade has crumbled away to show what truly lies beneath as she struggles to rebuild her walls as fast as they are falling down. She can't keep up. She's losing control. She's breaking. Her body and mind are being consumed by grief and I can't do a damn thing about it.

All I want to do is to wipe those acidic tears away.

As I gaze intently at my wife, the fog around me starts to evaporate, leaving a world of color. I can see the grass beneath me, though, I can't feel it, as well as the birds in the trees and the passersby that don't even take a second glance at Stephanie. It's as if she isn't there either.

Suddenly, she swiftly moves from her sitting position to her back, lying on the red and white checkered blanket, all with Bleu in her hands. She's crying, placing an arm over her eyes, blocking her view to the world. I remember the last time she did that. We were on this very blanket, right after we kissed. She placed her nose in the nook of her elbow as the sun blinded her and laughed. This time, she's not laughing. Oh, what I would give to hear her laugh one last time.

Unsure of what to do, I decide to lay next to her, placing my hand next to hers. I would have loved to interlock our fingers, but I can't. I can't touch her.

She uncovers her eyes and we stare at the clouds, just like how we used to. She mutters to herself, making animals out of their distorted shapes. She thinks one looked like a triceratops. I think it looks more like a rhino. We laugh. We cry. We continue to gaze at the sky, together. I wish she knew I was here.

She goes quiet. A moment of silence passes between us, one that is sad, but not uncomfortable. I wonder if she can feel my presence, just like how I can feel hers.

But then, faintly, I hear her again. Through her tears, she sings in a raspy voice. She sings for me.

_If I lay here,_

_If I just lay here,_

_Would you lie with me and_

_Just forget the world_?

 _Chasing Cars_. Our song. My last words. It's all coming back to me. I asked her to lay with me as we watched the sun set the day I died.

My breath hitches as tears warm my eyes. That day, that I once couldn't remember, is now so vivid. The pain, the emotions, the heartbreak. Why did it all have to end like this? Steph and I, we were supposed to be together forever, or, at least until we grew old. We were supposed to start a family and see the world. What happened to the channel? What happened to Jason and Chris? What happened to Stephanie?

I look over to her, she's still singing, but I can see her makeup run down her face, uncovering the dark circles that have formed under her once beautiful, bright eyes. She looks so pale, and skinny, and weak. She looks like a skeleton. I don't think she's been eating.

I may be a ghost of my former self, but I can still feel pain. And, when I look at Stephanie, I can feel my heart shatter.

I run my fingers through my hair as I gaze back at the clouds. I focus on Stephanie's voice, the only thing that is connecting me to the mortal world.

_Forget what we're told,_

_Before we get too old,_

_Show me a garden that's_

_Bursting into ... life._

All I _want_ to do is hold her in my arms and let her sink in my embrace, but all I _can_ do is lay next to her and sing along, though she can't hear me.

_Let's waste time_

_Chasing cars_

_Around our heads._

I move my blood-stained hand closer to hers, barely touching her, as the crimson liquid continued to seep from my mouth and abdomen, and as tears continued to roll down her soft cheeks. We looked pitiful, but we were together.

_I don't know where,_

_Confused about how as well,_

_Just know that these things_

_Will never change for us at all_.

I can hear her cry, desperately trying to continue with the song as her voice fades. I don't want her voice to fade. She has to stay strong. She has to stay strong for me. She's always the strong one.

She trails off but I continue to sing, hoping that somehow she could feel my resilience and maybe it will give her the strength to continue, even without me.

_If I lay here,_

_If I just lay here,_

_Would you lie with me and_

_Just forget the world?_

Silence. Complete silence. I sigh, gazing at the clouds, trying to keep my own tears from escaping my eyes. I miss her so much. I miss her touch, her laugh, her smile, her humor, everything that my death took from her. I miss her, and she's laying right next to me.

There's nothing more I can do. I can't cheer her up. I'm useless.

So, I say the one thing that I've been wanting to say for so long as if it would make a difference. It won't.

"I love you, Stephanie."

. . .

"I love you too ... Matthew."

I turn to her. She's looking at me, tears streaming down her face, but she's smiling. She interlocks her fingers with mine, squeezing my hand as tight as she can. I can feel her touch, her warmth, her love.

And, she can see me.

I capture her in my embrace, legs tangling together, her face buried in the nook of my neck and mine buried in her soft, brown hair. Everything around us turns to white as the blood that once covered me disappears and Stephanie's body restores its beautiful, muscular shape. We were together again, but, if she's here, then ...

Then, what did she do to herself?

I pull away, brushing strands of hair off of her face. Her smile fades. She knows what she has done.

"Why are you here?"

She turns away. She can't look at my face. She's afraid.

"Poison."

Her voice is barely audible, very raspy and hoarse, and muffled. But I hear what she says.

"With what? The blueberry pie?"

That's the only thing I remember her eating.

"Those weren't blueberries."

Nightshade. She must have baked nightshade into that pie. I should've known. I try to turn her face towards mine again, but she resists, her tears brushing off on my hands.

"I couldn't live without you, Matthew."

My eyes widen. I never knew that. I thought that she would continue on with her life. Sad, sure, but I never knew that she was so broken inside. Being with me was more important than her own life.

She took her own life just to be with me again.

"I hope you're not ... angry ... with me."

Angry? Why would I be angry? I love you Steph, I would never be angry.

I hold her in my arms once more and place her head on my chest, trying desperately to get as close to her as I can, holding back my tears. She's crumbling, breaking, but this time, I can support her. Nevertheless, it's still painful to see her this way.

"Steph," I caress her face, touching her soft skin that I have been longing to feel for two years, "I would never."

She smiles, sinking further into my embrace. As much as I wanted her to live her life to the fullest, even without me in the picture, I'm glad we are together again.

She giggles through her tears, "You waited for me."

"Always."

She tilts her head towards me and, without a second thought, I plant my lips on hers. They were so soft, just like I remember. I run my fingers through her hair once again. Finally, I can feel her touch, hear her laugh, see her smile. We are ... happy.

We pull away from each other. Her eyes sparkle, just like they used to. She looks perfect. She always looks perfect.

And with that, we interlocked our fingers and let the light of the afterlife consume us, finally finding the peace and joy that we have been craving since that day. The day I died. And, now, the day Stephanie died. Our anniversary. Others may look upon this day as a day of mourning for two lost souls, but, for us, it's the day we found each other, the day we were brought back together, never to be separated again.

And, from now on, things will never change for us at all.

_I love you, Stephanie._


End file.
